Page 33 of Secret Obsession
“Water break,” he calls. “And then goalies are switching.”
I skate to the bench and grab my water bottle, taking off my helmet and slowly heading back to the goal. The water is cold and refreshing.
“Whiteshaw!”
A voice I shouldnotbe hearing at practice catches my attention.
I spin around to watch Willow step through the doorway and onto the ice. She’s locked on me, and then she stops in her tracks. My brother is suddenly slamming to a halt in front of her. I bite my tongue to quell the sudden desire to rip her away from him.
Why is he talking to her anyway?
My heartbeat rushes in my ears. She’s leaning forward slightly, her balance on the balls of her feet. She doesn’t do well on ice, not in street shoes. Her cheeks are red, her hair messy. Windswept, a little damp on top. Maybe it’s snowing? Her eyes are angry, flashing up at him. Even her mouth is tense.
Knox says something to her, and she rolls her eyes. She points to me, and I can’t help but silently rejoice. My brother can fuck himself right to Hell, she’s here forme. I know exactly why, of course. But he doesn’t. For once, I’ve kept him out of it.
Greyson and Steele both eye me.
The rest of the team falls silent. Well, silent-ish. There are some assholes who never shut up, and my brother is one of them. He chuckles and moves backward, sweeping his arm out in invitation for her to continue. Which she does, with surprising confidence, until she’s right in front of me.
I set my water bottle and mask on the back of the net. “Willow. What a surprise.”
“Where is it?” She’s seething mad and sexy as sin. Her black blouse clings to her in all the right places, visible through her open black coat. Her cleavage is there for the taking, the wide V of skin from the center of her chest up to her collarbones smooth and tan.
In the winter. Go figure.
“Where’s what?” I ask, trying to control my smile. And my heartbeat.
We have an audience.
“My laptop,” she grits out.
“Oh, that old thing?” I lift one shoulder. “Not sure. I recall it was in the bag that I gave back to you—”
“That wasdaysago,” she hisses. “And I need it. Give it back.”
Coach blows his whistle, and Willow cringes.
“What the fuck is this?” He slides to a stop beside us. “Really, Whiteshaw? Entertaining girls on the ice?” His gaze turns to her. “You’re friends with that Reece girl, aren’t you? You ladies have an untimely habit of trying out for the hockey team. Girls on my ice during practice. Never in my years…”
Willow’s already walking backward, apologizing to him with her hands up. She gets all the way to the door that’ll take her back toward the locker rooms, or the exit. Depending on where she wants to go.
If she goes to the locker room, she’ll no doubt search my bag while I’m out here.
And if she does that, of course she’ll find her laptop.
“Sorry, Coach.” I drift after Willow. I just need to see if she turns left toward the locker rooms, or right toward the exit…
Except, well, I don’t really have anything to worry about.
Amanda has made her way down to the players’ entrance level.
I catch sight of her just as Willow reaches the doorway.
“Uh-oh.”
Coach follows my line of sight, but it’s like it happens in slow motion. One minute, Willow is facing off against Amanda.
And the next, Amanda is on her.
